Behind the Curtain of Glinda's Story
by helpmethinkofone
Summary: I've never really imagined where I would end up. Never would I imagine myself standing at Father's funeral, never imagined myself fighting the girls I regarded as my sisters in my youth. And I would probably never imagine myself telling you, a stranger, my story, instead of floating in my little bubble.
1. Author's Note

So I am sorry that I have not updated in a LONG time for my other story (Finally) its just school and all (yuck).

Anyway, this will be a story about my perception of Glinda's story.

THIS WILL NOT BE BASED ON ANY OF THE BOOKS SO DON'T ROAST ME ON A STICK FOR USING MY IMAGINATION! :)

The story will contain her story then eventually fluff between her and Oz, song inspired chapters, short stories, etc.

I hope you like it when I eventually post the first chapter!

Don't forget to check out "Finally"!

Keep writing,

Lena.


	2. Prologue

XXSo here goes nothing!XX

Prologue-3rd Person

The rain patters against the windows as Queen Adeline screams in agony, tearing the gaps of silence in between the thunder rumbles.

As the obstetrician smiles, Adeline relaxes. "Here she is," the obstetrician says, wrapping the newborn in an emerald green blanket.

The Queen doesn't wipe the pearls of sweat falling from her ivory face. She only says, as she thrusts her arms forward, ignoring the utmost weakness and fatigue, "Let me see her."

Though, the obstetrician doesn't hand over the newborn girl, she only furrows her brows in confusion.

"What? What's the matter?" Adeline asks. The obstetrician, Margaret, walks carefully with the bundle over to the Queen who is leaning against a pillow, who is closing her eyes slowly.

"Your grace," Margaret says in a defined accent, "I think you need to see your daughter's mark." Every witch has a mark, but Margaret has never seen a mark like this one.

Adeline instantly pops up from her comfortable position to view her daughter.

Both women knot their brows in confusion. "Margaret, why isn't she crying?"

The newborn darts her eyes up to her mother, a sad but lively look in her light eyes, and then the child looks around the room curiously.

Queen Adeline smiles down at her daughter as she grabs the baby from Margaret's arms, but her smile quickly fades as a look of confusion remarks her delicate features.

There, a mark at the left of her head, right under her hairline, was a tiny marking of half of a sun, half of a crescent moon, the moon a matte black color, the only color shown, swallowing the flames that radiate from the sun.

A look of sadness appears on the Queen's face as Margaret steps forward and asks, "What does it mean, Your Highness?"

Adeline closes her eyes briefly before she says, "It means my daughter is special. It also means trouble."


	3. Chapter 1--Lessons and Promises

Chapter 1-Lessons and Promises

Glinda's POV

**XXSo, before you read, keep in mind that this is just my imagination! And my imagination imagined Glinda as not being a "goody-two-shoes" as a child. Maybe like Arya from Game of Thrones, only with more glinda-ness? I doubt that makes sense, but whatever. :) R&R! Oh and Glinda is still a child, so keep that in mind as well!XX**

My father always calls me "little vixen", so that may be why I know I am in trouble now, for he has called me by my full name, "Glinda Amara Vatic!" he shouts.

I've never seen him truly angry, and that could be a good thing, and I know that he isn't _angry _hopefully he's just _frustrated_ with me.

I slouch towards the throne room, already thinking of something clever to say to avoid getting in serious trouble from both Father and Margaret, the old woman who teaches me how to be "lady-like" and "queenly" or, on some days, "like your mother, child."

I clasp my hands in front, both head and eyes towards the ground.

"Keep your chin parallel with the floor, child." Ugh. Margaret is an old woman, and I suppose unhappiness and perfection comes with age. I never want to get old, or at least not grouchy _and _old.

I look at Margaret, but not my father. She is standing as straight as the ruler she slaps my arm with if I mess up, her standing next to the throne Father is sitting in, and she moves her wrinkled hands to her hips, ready for an explanation.

"Glinda," my father says, his voice back to the gentle tone I'm used to, "_what _have you done to cause miss Margaret here such _torment?_" He mocks her, and I smile on the inside. It's not that Father doesn't like or respect Margaret, he just doesn't understand most of her worries. And nor do I.

"I'll tell you what the child did," Margaret interrupts right as I open my mouth. "She is making the water disappear in my glass, then, once I check to see what the problem is, the water comes back, _magically _she says, and goes right onto ma bloody face!" Margaret's accent makes everything strangely funnier.

Father has this strange look on his face, a face that I know all too well. The look that says he's trying to keep in laughter at my nonsense.

Then father looks directly at me, his warm brown eyes I inherited narrowed in a fake way, the wrinkles forming by his eyes telling me he is smiling with his eyes. "Well? What do you have to say for yourself?"

I think of something witty, another trait I gained from Father, then I say, "Miss Margaret, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I missed your mouth. Next time I'll do better."

She fumes beside a smiling Father, muttering her frustrations about my lack of respect, self-discipline and control.

* * *

"Now, Glinda, what happened, really?" Mother pipes up from beside Father.

Margaret left a few moments ago, probably to keep from strangling me. "I really am sorry, Mother." It's true. And Mother and Father both know that I could never lie to either one of them. "I just can't _control _it all the time. And, yes, I know, I egg on the anger from miss Margaret by making snide comments like that."

The hard look in Mother's eyes doesn't subside, but I can recognize the difference between her anger and her...every other emotion pretty well, but it does take a substantial amount of time.

She leans back in her seat, closes her eyes, and puts her dainty hand to her face, annoyed, probably. "_Glinda_," she groans irritably.

"I'm sorry, okay?!" I shout, hearing my voice echo in the large green room.

Mother pops from her place and puts a finger in the air, silencing me. "Child, you cannot keep expecting _sorry _to fix everything."

I look away from her beautiful blue eyes back down to the emerald-green tiled floor.

When mother gracefully stands and exits, I mutter under my breath, "I don't expect it to fix everything, I expect it to buy me some time to fix it..."

"Little vixen, I understand your troubles," Father says after a moment. _No, you don't, _I want to say, but I am too much of a coward to actually voice my thoughts. "but, you have to promise me something."

I walk closer to his throne to hear him better and I smile. Father loves his promises. He thinks promises are the best things to keep because you will always have them in your heart, as he once said to me.

"You have to promise me to be a queen the people deserve. A queen that sacrifices her snide comments to keep the people happy and hopeful and respectful towards you and each other. A queen that can learn to control her thoughts. For if her thoughts are not controlled..."

"Her actions are not controlled," I finish. He has always told me that, and I have always pondered the what-ifs of that. For example, he has always said that faith in yourself or in others is asking questions, so if you asked questions, could you control what you thought then?

He nods. "Yes. Now," Father stands as he says, "go get ready for dinner. Then, afterwards, I wish to show you something."

I nod and I wonder off towards my room, thinking of how I can control my powers and myself included. I've tried before, believe me when I say that. But it's not as simple as it seems, unfortunately.

Sometimes I do let my mind wander, thinking that if I didn't try to channel out the silent anger that bubbled inside my heart, what would happen to me?

Would I become this old crone who hates all and trusts none and kills anyone who saunters in her path?

Before I could continue my thoughts, however, a child crying disturbs me.

Instinctively, I run towards the source, and, to my advantage, the source was just around the corner.

"Theo?" I ask cautiously.

Theodora is only two years younger than me, yet she poses as a child my age (though she is no good at it).

I've never verbally complained when I help her up when she has fallen, or when I hold her in my arms when she cries, but I have to admit, it is a bit annoying to see a seven-year old act as if the world has ended with simply a scraped knee.

Like I said, she tries to act like an elder, but she is no good at it.

The child looks up at me from wet brown eyes. Her bottom lip quivers as she holds her arms out to me.

I walk a few feet towards her and I sit down, pulling her into my lap. "What is wrong, Theo?"

The girl buries her face on my shoulder, wetting the fabric of my dress. "I-I didn't m-mean to, I p-promise." Her voice stutters with intense anxiety before she starts hyperventilating.

"Shhhh..." I say calmly. "What happened? I won't get mad, I promise."

It takes Theodora a while before her breathing slows and she can calmly say, "Eva, she made me mad...and-and the plant c-caught on fire..." The child grows hysterical yet again.

Honestly! Why does Evanora continually pick on Theodora? I mean, yes, sometimes Theodora does overreact with her temper and such, but still!

I rearrange Theo in my lap where she looks me straight in the eye. Her gorgeous thick brown curls bounce floppy as she lays flimsy when I holds her arms gently. "Would you like me to fix it, Theo? Then it can be as if nothing ever happened." I smile and she perks up, hearing the "get out of jail free card".

"You promise you won't tell anyone, GG?" she asks pitifully.

I nod and she jumps up from the floor, running through the long green hallways, leading me to the damaged flowers, but leaving only her shadow for me to follow.

I have this pit in my stomach full of sympathy towards Theodora's naïvety. I assume every child has that, but it has taken Theo an extraordinary amount of time to out-grow it. I was surprised to see that Theo actually believed that if things were covered up and lies were told, things would get better. Maybe more than surprised.

Maybe frustrated?

I stop in my tracks when I spot Theodora standing near a huge pot holding a slightly charred tree with all if its iridescent flowers now black and wilting.

This was far more damage than I expected. "What...?"

I formulated a plan rather quickly in my head but now its time to test out the magic.

Using tears, multiplying them from the water droplets in air, and then spreading them to a life source is rather difficult. Plus, I don't even own a wand. Make that _very, very very _difficult.

Children below the age of eleven aren't allowed to own a wand, for they need to be taught and mature enough. I am, sadly, only nine.

I concentrate on what I feel in the air and what I see from Theodora's still moist eyes. "Can you make yourself cry a little more?" It was a silly question to ask a melodramatic seven-year old, I know, but have to do what you have to do, right?

She does, surprisingly silent, and I close my eyes (my ritual of a sort of concentration). I hold my hands out, extending my arms but twisting my wrists in awkward ways.

Normally, a witch would have to have some sort of Extender to use her powers and to have control over them, but, my mother and father both being in the magic blood line, I was lucky. Though, that makes the stakes even higher if you mess up and the powers less controlled.

Hearing a gasp erupt from Theodora, I peak from under my lashes.

A floating thick mist levitates a few inches from my palms as it slowly rolls over towards the depressing looking plant.

I open my eyes fully when the water seeps into the soil, immediately taking effect on the plants.

I smile a pleased smile when Theo starts to randomly clap and squeal. I start to laugh slightly, surprised at how controlled that looked.

Never, _never _has my magic been that...amazing.

* * *

I retired to my room after a moment passed at gaping at the vivid colors on the plant like an idiot. Theodora had hugged me quickly before skipping off to find more trouble.

Plain white walls with golden trim leading into an emerald colored carpet (surprising, right?) stares at me blankly.

Unfortunately, Father dislikes the thought of diversity between social groups, which means no self in any of the rooms, because then he would feel it was unfair to the guests who couldn't afford to keep a room, therefore, no poetry on parchment tacked to the walls.

I wish I could find a spell that could change that, give the illusion of this bland room when, with the click of my heels, writing, illustrations, music, etc.,could appear and disappear.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, I give an audible sigh for no reason at all.

I undo the leather strap holding the yellow hair of mine out of my face. Margaret would complain when I held all of my hair back, saying it was unladylike, so I compromised. I only tie back the long bangs that temporarily blind me sometimes. Though, this one strand aways seems to squirm out of anything I use to tie it back with.

Letting my body collapse onto the lumpy bed, I close my eyes again, thinking of all the things that happened today:

One, I woke up earlier than usual to see the sun rise when actually I saw a young Quadling girl chasing a chicken, zigzagging through the path of the yellow brick road.

Two, lessons with Margaret immediately after breakfast.

Three, when I was supposed to be at lunch, I met up with the tutor, Willison, and he taught me that when I get my Extender, I would use it as if it was molded into me, a part of me, and he taught me reflexes today that could "save your pretty little life" he had said.

Four, back to the tiresome lessons on how to be a proper lady, queen and wife that simply teach me how to eat or sit or curtsey.

Five, the prank I pulled with Margaret's glass.

Six, the "trial" with Father and Mother and Margaret.

Seven, the incident with Theodora.

And finally, eight, where I am now.

I stand after I hear a banging on my door before it abruptly opens, revealing a knight who says, "Your father would like you to get ready for dinner, princess."

I nod. I hate that word. The definition is boredom, dependency and controlled.

When the door shuts, I walk over to the bathroom, complete with running water from pipes. The Tinkers truly are amazing, yet sometimes I just want to snatch the project away from one of the older men who can barely hold a spoon and tell him to go and sleep because of the under eye circles outlining his eyes.

I reach for the brush inside of the drawer next to the sink when I accidentally grasp the box I hide in there.

It's full of my poems, thoughts, questions, even pictures that I drew (that I fail miserably at).

I don't open it, despite my wanting to, though. Reliving some of those memories is excruciating, and I don't want you to have to go through that, as well as me.

I simply stare past it to the brush and brush my tousled yellow hair. Theo and Mother a like always marvel at my hair while I find no reason at all to obsess over that sort of thing.

After I brush my hair, I just stare into the mirror. Not really in the narcissistic way, but just the looking past myself sort of thing.

Like I said before, sometimes, I let my mind wander.

* * *

At supper, the table was surprisingly more tense than usual.

Margaret stares at me from the brim of her wine glass, letting the red tinted liquid slosh with her shaky hands.

I've always wondered what wine tasted like. Sure, I have smelt it before (which by the way is one of the most breath-taking smells) but I would just like to know what all the buzz is about and how _everyone _drinks it with different purposes in mind.

Willison tears into his soup rather ferociously which causes Mother to give him a side-ward glance.

Mother has never really liked or enjoyed Willison's company, but eventually I convinced bother Mother and Father that he was sure to help me in my training.

You see, he was a serf who disobeyed his lord and was sent here for punishment. But upon seeing me, an obvious witch, he promised my father to train me in return for food, shelter and protection.

So, basically, I was a one way ticket to freedom in a barter.

I picked at the food at my plate, barely able to eat from thinking of the little scraps of paper in the box with the painful memories written with tears on them.

"Glinda, dear, what's wrong?" Mother asks in a rather concerned tone.

I immediately dart my eyes up to hers. "Nothing. Just thinking." I force a smile.

She furrows her brows. "You've had that look on your face for a while now, child," Mother leans in slightly before saying in a more lower tone, "are you having nightmares again?"

I blink my eyes back to my food. "No, Mother. My head is just hurting." I wince as I unconsciously touch the mark under my hairline. I've always had this, and it's always throbbed, but lately, it's tortured me a lot more often.

Her eyes soften just a hint before she looks back down to her food.

The room grows quiet yet again.

Then, Willison pipes up, "Did you review yourself today, Glinda?"

I nod.

"Good. Now your pretty little life shall be saved!" Willison is always putting on a theatric.

Mother clears her throat uncomfortably before Father asks Willison something I can't quite comprehend.

My mind starts to spin and my vision begins to get blurry.

I blink rapidly to try to regain my vision, but it doesn't work. My body starts to shake uncontrollably as I start to see visions.

One of the visions was incoherent. It was of a hot air balloon being ripped in half I think.

The second was of mountains of bodies; Quadlings, Tinkers, Munchkins, China people, and even Winkie Guards, a puddle of blood draining.

Lastly, a vision of...me? Yes, me. My eyes were rimmed in black, my dress dark as well. I looked older, maybe sixteen? My face is neutral. I get the image of my back and then the vision zooms out and I am standing amidst the puddle of blood and next to the many corpses.

* * *

I open my eyes to see a white ceiling with a circular movement causing it to look like the inside of a dome.

Father's study.

A fire crackles and pops beside me.

"Finally, you're awake." he says gently as he presses his cold hand on my forehead.

"What happened, Father?" My voice sounds groggy and weak. I start to sit up from my place, feeling the soft fabric of the couch under my fingertips.

He turns his back to me and faces his desk, shuffling some papers with diagrams on them around to make me think he was working and not being totally worried about my condition. "You had a vision, didn't you?"

I piece it all together. I was sitting at the dinner table, I think. We were talking then I just...saw things.

"Three." Father can predict the future, so, lucky me, I got that "talent". However, the deal with him is, that he can only sat them in prophecies that aid to the welfare of the people before the visions slowly diminish from his thoughts.

My case is so different. I have sudden visions, and visions within dreams.

Usually my visions are silly and unimportant, like what people I meet on the steps of the Palace. Or what color horses (the color depicts what message they send. For example, if a horse is red, the message os very bad) stroll into town.

But not this time.

Father breaths heavily which makes me more concerned.

"What's going on, Father?" I ask finally.

He walks towards me then puts his hand on my cheek again. He closes his eyes.

Oh yeah, forgot to mention, Father can read minds if he is in touching distance with you.

When he opens his eyes, he has pure angst written in his now surprisingly dark eyes.

Father takes a long, deep breath before saying, "I'm not quite sure."

**XXSorry if the ending was sucky. :) I hope you enjoyed this rather long chapter! Hopefully the other chapters will be long as well! Sorry about late update! Please forgive me as I bribe you with a virtual candy bar! Ps. Look up the names "Amara" and "Vatic" and you'll see why I chose them. :) A good name place that I go to all the time is . Anyway, R&R!XX**


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